


Quebec

by christinefromsherwood



Series: 007 Fest 2019 [10]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Drunk Q, Drunkenness, Humor, M/M, and fluffy?, it's silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 02:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19781047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/pseuds/christinefromsherwood
Summary: Q had a rough day and all he wanted to do was drink and whinge and this blue-eyed blonde at the bar seems good enough to listen to his woes, in particular about a double-oh agent he hasn't even met yet!-Anon Prompt 2017





	Quebec

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh, this is silly :D Even by my usual standards. 
> 
> This prompt just spoke to me, and well... it does require a certain amount of silliness. :D

“But-but-but! Listen to this!”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Q was aware that he was pretty drunk, and that the man he was imploring to listen and sympathize with his tale of woe was probably not as interested as he pretended to be.

Those worries and realizations, however, were something that he was leaving for sober Q to deal with later. Much later.

The day had been shite, it was well past midnight and it wasn’t as though he was sharing state secrets, was it. Everyone needed to let off a little steam now and then.

“You give this man an inch, and he’ll… he’ll take your whole arm!”

No, perhaps that was not quite how the phrase went, but whatever, it got Q’s point across.

“Really?” said the man in a very pretty voice that made Q want wrap himself up in it and go to sleep.

Q blinked at him across the low table for a second.

Gosh, his eyes were pretty.

What were they talk-

Ah yes.

Q nodded vehemently.

Or he meant to anyway. What his nodding amounted to in the end was more of a jerk of a head followed by him nearly slipping off the plush chair.

“He will take- No! He will STEAL your ENTIRE ARM and just- just throw it away. He doesn’t care that your arm hasn’t had sleep in 24 hours and is staying up just so it can help him get the-“

Here Q paused and searched his mind for an appropriate metaphor.

“… the… get the frozen strawberries over the borders before they melt into a mush!”

“I see,” the blond man nodded, seriously.

Q beamed at him.

He had been certain the stranger had initially approached him only because he wanted to get into his pants—which: fair, Q had worn his lovely tight jeans when he had decided to spite Ms Moneypenny who had sent him home, and instead go dancing like he used to in uni—but now he was liking him more and more.

The blond man was an excellent listener. Very understanding!

“This Mr. Blond sounds like a very unpleasant colleague. Especially when it comes to the logistics of frozen fruit.”

“He is,” Q agreed, glad to be understood.

“Mr. Blond is…” Q paused again, thinking how best to encompass all of his feelings about the self-centred agent into one succinct description.

He took a sip of the champagne his companion had generously bought for him.

He’d never before liked his wine to be bubbly, but now that he was on his sixth glass, he found he was appreciating the sensation and taste more and more.

“Mr. Blond is a hideous llama!” he proclaimed.

Q hated llamas since since his 8th birthday. He’d only wanted to pet one once, and it had spat all over his strawberry ice cre-

The man with the pretty blue eyes choked on his drink, and Q was torn out of his traumatic flashback to look at his companion worriedly.

His eyes were too pretty for him to die because his drink was poisoned.

They had told Q all about poisoned drinks and kidnappings and cyanide teeth when they’d forced the promotion on him.

The man’s whole frame was shaking like in a seizure. He had to put his whisky down on the table and was wiping at his face.

Yes, it was probably poison. Leaking from the nose and eyes was one of the signs they had told him about.

“Are you dying?” Q asked.

During their conversation, Q had realised he would quite like to have sex with the man with the pretty blue eyes, and he wouldn’t be able to do that now, if the man died before Q even got to kiss him, which was something he thought he would also like to do very much.

“No, I’m not dying,” the man reassured Q helpfully.

“Good,” he nodded. “Your eyes are very pretty.”

The man stopped wiping at his pretty eyes, and grinned at Q openly when he had only smiled before.

“Thank you, Q,” he said, and Q frowned. He didn’t like it when people shortened the fake names he gave them.

“It’s Quebec, actually,” he announced primly. The man pressed his lips tightly together and then nodded.

“So, you don’t think I’m a hideous llama… _Quebec_?”

Q shrugged and took another sip of his champagne, draining his glass.

“You’re nothing like Mr. Blond, I don’t think.”

“How do you know?” the man asked; Q dimly registered a strange twist to his lips.

But it was a fair question.

In his pleasant haze, Q contemplated the best answer. Ultimately he decided he really wanted things to move along.

“Obviously, I can’t be sure,” he allowed thoughtfully. He was a scientist first and foremost. “I am basing my findings sole-le-ly on the fact that I’ve never wanted Mr. Blond to fuck me through the mattress.”


End file.
